


scorpio, of the desert sun

by discordiansamba



Series: the stars shine a different shine [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M, Roleswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 04:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discordiansamba/pseuds/discordiansamba
Summary: Shiro receives some devastating news. He doesn't handle it well.(or, a roleswap au between keith and shiro)





	scorpio, of the desert sun

**Author's Note:**

> I know I just updated this series the other day, but I wanted to get all three of my initial pre-Kerberos ideas out before I let it lie dormant for awhile! So here we are, three of three for this age/partial roleswap AU. In this chapter, I'm mean to Shiro! So you know... business as usual. I wanted to finish this up yesterday, but they've been doing road resurfacing near me recently and while the road in front of my house desperately needed it, it's also very noisy and super distracting. Nothing like your whole house vibrating to make you lose focus lol. But I got it done today, so that's that!
> 
> Until next time! When I update next, whenever that will be, it should be with some champion!Keith!

It started simply as a sharp pain in his right arm. At first Shiro thought it was just the result of having slept on it wrong, but when it didn't go away, he wondered if he'd maybe pulled something during flight training. It had been ramping up ever since he'd been put into the fighter class, so maybe it was just a bad case of sore muscles.

That thought lasted until he woke up one morning, and found that he couldn't move his right arm at all. It didn't last long- barely even a minute- but it was enough to put Shiro into full blown panic mode. Adam had helped calm him down, staying with him until they made it to the nurse's office, where Shiro insisted he would be fine by himself. That Adam shouldn't have to miss class for him.

When the nurse told him with a fake smile that he was probably fine, but that she wanted to do a few more tests 'just in case', he wished he'd told him to stay.

It took him nearly half a day to return to class. He was already exhausted by the time he did, feeling as if he had run a marathon. Part of him just wanted to go back to his room and sleep for the rest of the day, but the rest of him just wanted to try and at least _pretend_ that things were normal- even if he sensed they weren't.

The nurse's tests had proved inconclusive, or at least, that's what she told him. Shiro had the feeling that she had found _something_ concerning in them, but just wasn't telling him- at least, not yet. She'd promised to contact him later, when she had more definite results, but had otherwise told him that he should just stick to his normal schedule.

Ducking into class, he passed the slip that the nurse had given him to the teacher. He'd taken one look at it, and then told him to take a seat, before continuing on with his lecture. He could hear some faint mumbling from his fellow cadets- no surprise, since he hadn't missed a day of class since coming to the Garrison.

He took his seat next to Adam, who gave him a faint smile. He'd never been more grateful to have all the same classes as him- he still hadn't been that successful in making friends. He was sort of on good terms with an engineering cadet by the name of Hunk Garrett, but the fact that _his_ best friend, a cargo pilot by the name of Lance McClain had pegged him as his rival made actually becoming friends a bit difficult. He would much rather be friends with Lance too, but apparently this was one of those situations where he didn't have any actual say in the matter.

"How did it go?" Adam whispered, leaning over a bit.

Shiro shook his head. "She did a lot of tests, but she doesn't know what's wrong."

Adam's brow furrowed, concern visible on his features. "That doesn't sound good."

"She tried to act like it wasn't something to worry about," Shiro frowned, staring down at his right arm, "-but what if it is?"

"Hey," Adam said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder, "-it'll be okay. Whatever this is, you'll have me."

Shiro looked up at him, a grateful smile on his face. He'd confessed to Adam months ago, and his embarrassing encounter with Keith not withstanding, it had gone great. They hadn't exactly been on a lot of dates, both too busy with coursework to have much in the way of free time, but it was nice just _having_ a boyfriend. That definitely hadn't been among the things he'd thought he'd find for himself at the Galaxy Garrison.

"Thanks." Shiro told him. "I think we'd better start paying attention though. Professor Montgomery is starting to give us the stink eye."

Adam flinched, his eyes darting up towards the front of the room, where the professor was indeed doing exactly that. Glancing back towards him with a sheepish smile, he made a quick hand motion that indicated that they would talk more about it later.

Shiro nodded, though he wasn't even sure if he _wanted_ to talk about it later- or at all. Part of him just wanted to put it all behind him. Maybe if he pretended it didn't happen, it would stop being something he needed to worry about. Maybe it was just a one time thing, and wouldn't happen again. Maybe he was just letting himself get worked up for nothing.

And even if it _was_ something... maybe it wasn't actually anything serious. Maybe all he would need was a quick, non-invasive procedure, one that he wouldn't even have to leave campus to get, and be out within the day. Maybe the nurse just wanted to be absolutely certain of whatever she thought, and that's what all the tests had been about.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he'd actually start to believe it.

Maybe.

* * *

Maybe not.

Shiro sat perfectly still, keenly aware of every breath he took. The nurse _had_ run more tests. And those tests, unlike the ones from before, had come back with results.

Very bad results.

Now he was in the presence of the Galaxy Garrison's official doctor, but he wasn't alone. They had also summoned a specialist, and it was then that Shiro knew he was really in trouble. The Garrison was almost like it's own small country- they wouldn't call for outside assistance unless they absolutely needed it.

Adam was with him this time, and at first, he'd been grateful to have his support. But now, as the specialist detailed the exact nature of his condition, he almost wished he wasn't. He didn't want Adam to know just how messed up his body was- or how messed up it was going to become. Because according to the specialist, the stabbing pains and temporary paralysis of his right arm were just the beginning. It was only going to get worse from here- _a lot_ worse.

There was, he said, no cure.

Shiro had tuned him out after that. Some small part of him realized that he was in shock, but the rest just... didn't think about anything. The specialist's words came out as a static buzz, and even Adam's tight grip on his hand, once meant to be reassuring and supportive, didn't register with him.

He wouldn't make it to thirty-five.

His sixteenth birthday had been a month ago. Thirty-five had seemed so far away then, the age of an old man. Now it was both too close and too young.

"No."

He barely even registered that he'd spoken, much less that anyone else had heard him. In truth, the room had come to a dead stop at his utterance, even though it was no more than a single word. The specialist had finished speaking, and even Adam's fearful death grip on his hand had grown more lax in surprise.

"No, I don't accept this."

"Shi-"

Shiro bolted.

He didn't even know where he was going, he just ran. Anywhere was better than here. _Here_ was nothing but death and doom- here had no future.

 _He_ had no future.

The Garrison had contacted his parents. They were on their way right now. Probably to withdraw him from school and put an end to his dream for good. It wasn't like he could even _be_ a pilot anymore. Who would let someone with a degenerative disease behind the controls of a plane?

No one, that's who.

He didn't realize he'd gone outside until he felt the bright sun beating down on his face. The sudden shock of leaving the air conditioned confines of the Garrison so quickly snapped him out of the larger shock his diagnosis had put him in. The heat crept into his bones, and with it came a wild, crazy urge.

Away. He had to get away.

Away from here. Away from the Garrison, away from his diagnosis, away from somewhere he had no future. As if by just going away, he could outrun fate.

He couldn't, and some part of him knew it, but the rest of him seized at the idea. He knew where the Garrison kept their hoverbikes, and he knew how to fly one. He also knew the lock box where they kept the ignition keys was never actually _locked_ , and that the front gate was always open at this hour.

It was perhaps the single stupidest idea he'd ever had in his life, but he did it. He stole the keys, took the hoverbike, and before he knew it was zooming out across the desert sands. There was exhilaration in it, weighed down only by the fearful knowledge that this might be the last time he would ever be allowed to fly _anything_.

He was sure someone would come after him eventually. Maybe Adam, or maybe Lieutenant Griffin. Maybe even Commander Iverson. He didn't think the admiral would trouble herself with a runaway cadet, one that they would probably end up removing from their pilot track anyways.

But he didn't think about that. Tried not to think about anything.

Which, in hindsight, was what lead to his downfall. If he'd been thinking, he would have remembered that he needed to throttle back once he reached this particular curve. But he didn't, so instead of throttling back, he hit the accelerator- and almost predictably took the curve way too hard and way too fast, leaving him no time to avoid the rock mass that sprung up just a short distance away from it. He ended up clipping it, and as a result, found himself violently thrown from the hoverbike.

Groaning, Shiro rolled over on his back. The bright sun assaulted his eyes, and he slammed them shut in a futile attempt to block it out. Now his whole body hurt, not just his right arm. His left leg was especially painful, and for a fearful moment, Shiro wondered if his disease had somehow spread to it that quickly, before realizing that it was probably just broken.

He then realized that actually wasn't any better. It was actually _worse_.

Pushing himself up, Shiro winced. He couldn't have broken it too badly, since nothing looked out of place, but a quick check with his hands definitely confirmed that it was probably more than just a sprain. Looking in the direction of the crashed hoverbike, he winced. It had taken way more damage than he had, and probably wasn't going anywhere soon- if ever.

Which meant he was stuck out in the middle of the desert with no way to get back, no water, and no way to even contact anyone. Great.

Heaving a sigh, Shiro dragged himself into the shadow of the large rock, where the sun was slightly less intense. Suddenly, the fact that someone would come to look for him eventually became reassuring, but at the same time he realized it might take them awhile to discover where he had gone. He hoped that the tracking chip in the hoverbike was still functional, and that it hadn't been damaged in the crash, but he had no way of checking.

He huffed slightly. At least this made him worry a little less about his diagnosis. It seemed stupid to be concerned about the future when he wasn't even sure if he'd get through _today_.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there. Long enough to know that it had been a lot longer than he should, but he had no way of tracking time. He knew there was some way to do it with shadows, but he'd never learned how. Maybe he should.

You know, _if_ he survived this.

He was sure more than an hour had passed by the time his throat started to feel parched. Even under the shadow of the large rock, it was still almost unbearably hot. He debated if he should remove the jacket of his cadet uniform or not, unable to recall if it was worse to heat up too much or to get too much sun. The answer seemed like it should be obvious, but at the moment, it was eluding him.

By the time another hoverbike pulled up to take in the wreckage, he was almost too out of it to notice. If their voice hadn't sounded familiar enough to stir something in him, he might not have. Opening up his mouth, Shiro attempted to wet his lips, trying to produce some kind of sound- any kind of sound- so that they might notice him, but all he managed to produce was a dry croak.

Thankfully, his would-be rescuer had good ears.

The last things Shiro saw before he passed out were an unseasonably warm aviator jacket, and a pair of odd purple eyes.

* * *

Shiro groaned, his eyes slowly flickering open. He quickly became aware of two things- the cool, damp rag pressed against his forehead, and the absence of the blazing sun beating down on him. His thoughts came back to him in a slow trickle- his diagnosis, running away and crashing his hoverbike, and then...

Turning his head, Shiro tried to catch a peek at his rescuer. It didn't look like he was at the Garrison- it looked more like he was in some type of cabin. Though _cabin_ might be too generous of a word for it- _shack_ would probably be better, he thought, as he got a clearer look at it. It definitely looked lived in, like whoever occupied it didn't care too much about keeping things tidy. Even the couch he had been placed on was a bit lumpy and hard in places, but it was cool and out of the sun, so he wasn't exactly complaining.

"You awake?"

He blinked. He knew that voice, but he was a little too out of it to recall just who it was. Craning his neck, he tried to get a better look, just able to make out a mop of black hair, tied back into a ponytail with a rubber band, and a knife in a battered sheath.

"Keith?" Shiro frowned.

Turning his head, Keith peered back at him. "So you remember me."

"Kind of hard to forget." Shiro said. "Where...?"

"Home sweet home." Keith told him. "Or what passes for it anyways. Found you out in the desert. Took the curve too hard, huh?"

Shiro nodded, feeling a little dumb. He was glad to be rescued, but he hadn't expected it to be by a complete third party to the situation. He also couldn't help but feel a bit flustered that his mistake had been _that_ obvious- just more evidence that he still had a lot to learn.

And no chance to do it.

Shiro bit his lip, staring down at his right arm. Now that he wasn't in imminent danger, his worries about the future came back in full force.

"Your arm's fine," Keith told him, squatting next to him, "-it's the leg that's broken. I set it for now, but you're probably going to want to see an actual doctor."

Shiro tensed, dropping his right arm by his side. Right. Keith didn't know about his diagnosis. Why would he? Other than that time on the roof, they didn't talk. He'd seen him around the Garrison multiple times since then, but they remained somewhat distant. It wasn't like he had any reason to call out to him.

"Think you can sit up?" Keith asked.

Shiro nodded. It took him a bit of struggle, but he did manage to sit up. Doing so gave him a better view of the shack- and the more he saw, the more he wondered just how Keith managed to live here. He had said it was his home, right?

"I know what you're thinking," Keith said, cracking open a water bottle and pouring some of its contents into a paper cup, "-but it's not so bad once you get used to it. Sometimes there's even the occasional rattlesnake come to keep you company."

Shiro flinched, eyes scanning the shack as if he expected to see a rattlesnake right then and there. Keith chuckled, handing him the paper cup.

"Drink it slow." He instructed. "Measured sips. You need to rehydrate."

Shiro nodded, doing exactly as he was told. He knew that much anyways, even if his body did crave to snatch the entire bottle of water from Keith's hands and chug it down. Once he was done, he felt slightly better, the stinging pain in his head slightly reduced.

"I called Sam," Keith began, before correcting himself, "-Commander Holt. He's coming to take you back to base. I'd take you myself, but it was enough of a challenge getting you here on the hoverbike. Would have just taken you back to the Garrison, but I thought it was better to get you cooled down and out of danger first. My place was closer."

Shiro just nodded, staring down at the bottom of the cup. Honestly, he didn't want to go back to the Garrison. Going back to the Garrison meant facing the consequences- both of running away, and of his disease.

Keith took in his expression, tightly frowning. Setting the water bottle on what looked to be a makeshift table stacked up on some cinder blocks, he made a faint huffing sound.

"Look," Keith began, "-I'm not exactly that great at reading people, but you seem... is something wrong?"

Shiro bit his lip, before slowly nodding. _Something wrong_ didn't feel like it even began to cover it. His whole life felt like it was coming apart, and there was nothing he could even do about it. The Garrison, Adam... all of it was going to go away.

Keith's frown deepened. "Do you want to talk about it? I don't know if I'll be much help but-"

"I might have to leave the Garrison." Shiro abruptly said, surprising even himself.

Keith blinked, staring at him in surprise. "Leave? You're the best cadet they have. Why would they make you leave?"

Shiro just gripped the paper cup a little harder. It crumpled in his hands, no longer suited for its intended purpose. By the time he reached Keith's age, he'd probably be no different from it- damaged and no good to anyone, much less himself.

"It's okay." Keith said after a minute. "You don't have to tell me. But if there's something I can do to help..."

Shiro blinked, looking up at him with a slight frown. "You barely even know me. Why would you want to help?"

Keith rubbed the back of his neck, staring hard at the floor like he was considering it himself. "I mean... I wouldn't have this position if Sam hadn't stuck his neck out for me, and he didn't know me either. No one had ever done that for me before. It was- it was nice."

"So I just thought... I don't know." Keith said. "That maybe I should try and do it for other people. And you seem like you could use the help."

Shiro's shoulders slumped, releasing his grip on the cup. It dropped into his lap, Keith awkwardly peering up at him before carefully removing it.

"I'm sick." Shiro told him. "I only just found out about it today, and it's just..."

"...it's just going to get worse. And there's no cure." Shiro blurted out. Now that he was talking about it, he found that he couldn't _stop_ talking about it, all of his thoughts and anxieties bubbling to the surface. "They brought in a specialist because apparently it's _rare_ or something, and he said... he said I might not make it to thirty-five. That I'll die."

Keith's nose crinkled. "Who tells a fifteen year old they're going to die?"

"Sixteen." Shiro weakly supplied.

"Still," Keith said, "-that's not right."

Shiro wanted to protest that it was better he know, but couldn't bring himself to. He wished he _didn't_ know- that he could have remained ignorant for a few more years, at least. Long enough to graduate from the Garrison. To spend more time with Adam. To at least do _something_ with his life.

"So... you think the Garrison will kick you out just because you're sick?" Keith asked, after what felt like an eternity's worth of heavy silence.

"The disease effects my muscles." Shiro told him. "Who wants a sick pilot?"

"What about treatments?" Keith asked.

Shiro opened his mouth to respond, before realizing he didn't know the answer to that. He'd tuned out almost right after the specialist had told him that there was no cure, so he hadn't really heard if there were any available treatments or not. He didn't know why the possibility hadn't occurred to him sooner- for some reason, he'd just thought that no cure meant that there was nothing at all that could be done about it, period.

Sure, a treatment wasn't a _cure_ , but it was better than nothing. Maybe it would even be able to keep him in the Garrison long enough to graduate.

"I don't know." Shiro admitted. "I kind of stopped listening."

Keith huffed. "Can't say I blame you, after you were told you were going to _die_."

In spite of himself, Shiro cracked a smile. Just talking about it made him feel a little better, and the thought that there might be treatments available gave him a little hope. "I guess I should thank you for saving me."

Keith just shrugged. "I just did what anyone would do. Feels a lot better helping _save_ a life than-"

He cut himself off, ducking his head. "Sorry. Nevermind."

Keith got up then, setting down the paper cup on the makeshift table. Shiro glanced over towards it, surprised to find that it was more or less back in its original shape, even if all the wrinkles hadn't exactly buffed out. It even looked like it could hold water again.

Keith caught him looking at it and shrugged. "Can't waste a perfectly good cup. Should probably buy some real ones at some point, but eh."

Shiro bit his lip, staring at the cup. It stuck with him, though he wasn't sure why. "Do you think... do you think if there are treatments, they'll let me stay the Garrison?"

"I think if they kick you out, they'd have to be complete idiots." Keith said.

"I probably won't have much of a career even if I do stay." Shiro said. "It's supposed to be degenerative. Eventually I'll lose control of my limbs."

"So make the time you _do_ have count." Keith told him, folding his arms in front of his chest. "Do something great. _Make them_ remember you."

Shiro frowned, his brows drawing together. "Do you really think I can?"

Keith hummed, glancing out the window. If he strained his ears, he could make out the sound of a car pulling up. "Do _you_ think you can?"

Narrowing his eyes, Shiro thought about it. _Could_ he? Right now the pain was manageable, and maybe with treatment, it would be even more so. But he still wasn't sure how much time he actually had before his condition started to take a nosedive- once that happened, he wasn't sure there would be enough treatments in the world to stop it.

But maybe... maybe just because there wasn't a cure _now_ , didn't mean there would never be. Maybe between now and thirty-five, someone would come up with a way to save him. Or maybe they wouldn't. He had no way of knowing what the future held.

But that was... that was it, wasn't it? He _didn't_ know. Maybe he'd die at thirty-five, just like the specialist said. Maybe he wouldn't. He had no way of knowing either way. And if he had no way of knowing, should he really spend the entirety of the present worrying about something he couldn't control? What kind of life was that?

Not one he wanted, he decided.

He'd fight, Shiro decided. He had fought to get into the Garrison, and he'd fought to get his rank as the number one cadet in the pilot track. He'd fight this too.

"Yeah," Shiro finally said, with more confidence than he expected, "-I think I can."

"Good." Keith grinned. "Your ride's here. Drink a little more water before you leave."

Shiro nodded, pouring a bit more water into the paper cup. It didn't even leak.

* * *

In the end, he didn't get pulled from the Garrison.

His parents had wanted to at first- something about taking him to get treatment at home. But Shiro had fought furiously against it, and eventually, they had caved- though not before lecturing him about being reckless enough to steal government property and then wreck it, putting his life at risk. If Keith hadn't found him when he had...

His broken leg had him laid up for a few weeks, during which time he and his parents discussed his options with the specialist. Turned out there _was_ a treatment available, in the form of an electro-stimulator that he could wear on his wrist. He didn't quite grasp _all_ of the technical details of how it worked- biology wasn't exactly his strongest subject, but he understood enough to know that it would help with both the pain and the paralysis- the latter of which would likely be fairly rare this early on in the disease's progression.

It was a good thing, the specialist said, that it had been caught this early. Since he'd tuned him out before he'd finished speaking the first time, he'd missed the part where he'd explained that early detection and treatment could extend one's life expectancy from anywhere between five to ten years. And while that still meant that at absolute worst, he wouldn't make it past forty, it still sounded a lot less scary than thirty-five.

It _was_ still scary, though. But his parents were with him to help him through it- and so was Adam. And when his parents had to return home, Adam was still there. He'd half expected them to maybe break up and just stay friends or something, but that didn't happen.

"Are you sure about this?" Shiro had asked once. "You heard the doctor."

"We've been over this, Shiro." Adam said. "I'm sure. I like you- and I want to stay with you for awhile longer, if you'll have me."

"You can... you can call me Takashi, you know." Shiro told him, the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach having nothing to do with his disease. "I mean, if you want."

"Takashi." Adam repeated, smiling. "I like it."

"I mean, I hope so, seeing as it's my name." Shiro joked.

Adam had snorted, and somehow even though he was still confined to the Garrison's medical wing, things had felt more normal than they had in a long while. At the end of the month, he'd be getting the promised electro-stimulator, at which point he would be allowed to return to class- provided his leg had healed by that point, which it should.

If Adam sticking by him had been a bit of a surprise, then the bigger one was just how many visitors he got. While his disease was far from public knowledge, his mishap in the desert and subsequent broken leg _were_. Adam visited regularly, but that was a given- as did some of his teachers, mostly to bring him his assignments, stuff that he could work on while still in recovery. Sometimes Lieutenant Griffin showed up to check on him, as did Lieutenant Kinkade, who had taught him before he'd advanced to the fighter pilot track.

What _really_ surprised him were the visits from his fellow cadets.

Hunk was the first to show up, armed with a tray of homemade get well cookies. Shiro had practically inhaled them, already growing sick and tired of the food they gave him in the medical ward. They had chatted a bit, mostly about the classes he was missing, and then he had left.

Shiro had assumed that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. To his surprise, it turned out that a lot of his fellow cadets actually _did_ want to talk to him- he'd just given off an air that made him difficult to approach. But apparently doing something stupid like stealing a hoverbike and breaking his leg was enough to humanize him a bit in their eyes, knocking him down off the pedestal he'd unwittingly put himself on.

But the one visitor he'd expected the least was Keith.

"I take it I'm interrupting something."

Shiro and Adam both jerked back at the same time, the latter nearly falling off the bed before he managed to recover. Neither of them had even noticed Keith come in, they had been so engrossed in- well, it had started as Adam helping Shiro with one of his assignments, but it had sort of... _evolved_ from there.

It wasn't like they were doing anything indecent- just sitting on the same bed together, holding hands. But somehow, being caught by _Keith_ of all people was beyond mortifying. It didn't help that both of his previous encounters with the ex-mercenary had involved him catching him in an embarrassing situation- from practicing his confession to Adam, to screwing up a basic turn on his (stolen) hoverbike and wiping out.

If this was some kind of trend, he didn't like it.

"Just studying." Shiro hurriedly said. "That's all. What brings you here?"

Keith merely arched a brow. He swore there was a hint of a smile on his lips, but he quickly covered it. "Was in the neighborhood. Thought I should come see how you were doing."

"You were just in the neighborhood of the medical ward?" Adam asked, incredulously.

"Physical." Keith absently shrugged. "You're...?"

"Adam Warner." Adam introduced himself. "Takashi's boyfriend."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that part out." Keith said- and there was no denying the faint smile this time. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

He and Adam both flushed. Shiro cursed his fair complexion, since it made his flustered expression all the more visible- though he guessed he should just be grateful that he wasn't nearly as pale as Keith was. For someone who lived out in the desert, it didn't look like he got an awful lot of sun.

"S-so why the sudden physical?" Shiro stammered. "I thought those were supposed to happen at the start of the year. It's almost April."

Keith hummed, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. "Can't say. It's not official yet."

Thinking back on the rumors that he'd heard before- that Commander Holt wanted Keith to fly some kind of big mission- Shiro frowned. If it had taken convincing to just get Admiral Sanda to let him have a job, he couldn't imagine how much convincing it would take to allow her to approve him to go on a mission, much less be its main pilot.

"Are you saying the rumors are true?" Adam asked, a lot more blunt than he was.

Keith just shrugged again. "Like I said, I can't say yet."

Shiro and Adam exchanged a glance. That was about as big a confirmation as they could get without Keith actually saying anything. He felt a faint bit of hope bubble up inside of him at that. If even _Keith_ could get clearance from Admiral Sanda to fly a big mission, then maybe there was hope for him yet.

"So... how's your leg?" Keith asked, his eyes darting down towards it. "Looks better."

"I get the cast off at the end of the week." Shiro told him. He nearly invited Keith to sign it, but then thought better of it- it felt a little childish. "The doctor says I'm healing well."

"Good to hear." Keith said, before hesitating, a slight frown touching his lips. "How's...?"

"I'm getting something that should help me manage the symptoms." Shiro told him. "So... better. I'll be sticking around for awhile yet."

Keith nodded. "Good. Would be a waste of talent if they'd made you leave. Probably would have ended up saying something to Sanda myself, for all that she listens to me."

"Pssh," Adam huffed, nudging his shoulder with his own, "-like the Garrison's going to let their golden boy go."

"Oh come on, nobody _actually_ calls me that." Shiro said, rolling his eyes.

"Actually," Keith began, "-I'm pretty sure I've heard Commander Iverson say it."

Adam smirked, looking almost unbearably smug. "I knew it."

He shot a look at Keith, who just blinked, before shrugging again. "Just saying what I've heard. Anyways, I should go. Physical."

Keith turned on his heel to leave, when it occurred to Shiro that he'd forgotten to say something very important to him. "Wait!"

Keith frowned, glancing back at him. "Yeah?"

"I never thanked you." Shiro said. "You know, for helping me."

Keith's frown deepened, his brows knitting together. "I thought you did?"

Shiro shook his head. "I thanked you for saving me. I never thanked you for _helping_ me."

"Oh," Keith blinked, a blank expression on his face that told him he didn't understand the difference, but wasn't totally willing to admit that, "-uh, you're welcome? I guess?"

Shiro just smiled. Even if Keith didn't understand, what he had said _had_ helped. As gruff as Keith's exterior was, he was starting to understand that he was actually kind of soft underneath it. It was just that that softness was hampered, weighed down by whatever it was that he had experienced on the battlefield- not that it was hard to guess. Too much death, probably. Likely some at his own hands.

But he didn't... he didn't seem like such a bad person. Maybe he had done some things wrong- but at least to Shiro, it seemed an awful lot that he was trying to do things right now. Besides, he'd saved his life, had even gone the extra mile to help him out and then check up on him afterwards- if he was really such a bad person, he would have just left him there in the desert.

He was suddenly gripped by the urge to know more, the same curious spark that had prompted him to speak to him further on the roof. Why _was_ he living in the desert? Didn't he have any family? Friends? How did someone as nice as Keith end up being a mercenary anyways?

"Can I come by the shack sometime?" Shiro blurted out, ignoring the way Adam arched his brows at the question. "For some pointers?"

The question caught Keith off guard, but in the end, he still cracked a faint smile. "Sure. Just try not to crash your bike this time."

"I'll try." Shiro promised. "And who knows? Maybe I'll catch up to you someday. It's not like you're getting any younger."

Keith's brows shot up, before his smile grew. "Is that a challenge, cadet?"

Shiro smiled right back. He still had a future. Maybe it wasn't the ideal future that he had wanted, but it wasn't as if it had vanished completely. He would just have to make the most of the time that he did have- and the best way to do that, he thought, was to set his sights on the best pilot the Galaxy Garrison had- and beat him.

"Absolutely."

"Fine," Keith grinned, "-bring it on."

* * *

"Christ, Takashi," Adam began, once Keith was gone, "-how many rivals do you even _need_?"

"Oh shut up." Shiro elbowed him. "You're just as bad."


End file.
